


Cooking Lessons

by twodwarves_oneeagle



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, Hunting, M/M, Pre-Canon, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twodwarves_oneeagle/pseuds/twodwarves_oneeagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out scouting, Fili teaches Kili how to cook the pheasant he's hunted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr prompt: Fili teaching Kili how to cook “those bloody birds you are so good at shooting through”. Pre hobbit, I think.

Kili is all but loping back to camp with a pair of pheasant roped together and hanging over his quiver. “Right through the eyes,” he announces once he’s close enough to receive praise from the scouting group. 

“Aye, and about time, too.” There’s a chime of agreement from hungry mouths. A halting look passes through his eyes for a split second and Kili recovers gracefully, his mouth twisting impishly. 

“You can’t rush perfection, my good gentle-dwarves.” 

Someone scoffs from the back of the camp, “We can when we’re hungry.”  There’s a round of pointed looks from the four companions, each of them thinking loud enough that Kili can hear them from across the way. 

Certainly, it _may_ have been his fault that some of the provisions hadn’t been tied entirely properly to one of their traveling ponies, so it _may_ have been his fault when some of their food washed down river in a crossing, but Kili was always a firm believer in letting insult become bygones. Especially when it was insult he had done. 

It may have been Gimir or Ril that spoke next (Kili always learned names just long enough to forget them), “What’re ye waitin’ fer boy? We can’t be eatin’ it like that.”

Kili looks between Gimir (he was next to positive that was the right name) and the dead pheasant gently knocking together. The moving of cogs is clear on his face as his brows knit together and his lips draw a thin line across his face. 

There was a dead patience in his voice, “Ye gotta cook ‘em, lad.” 

“What? Oh, no. No, I--” Kili looks pleadingly at his brother to step in and save him from this predicament. Most dwarves from Belegost to Ered Luin knew that Kili didn’t cook. Kili hunted and presented kills and Kili ate what his game turned into, but the middle part was one of the great mysteries of Middle Earth to him. 

Fili, of course, was having a great deal of fun at his brother’s discomfort and let it continue for a few seconds longer before finally stepping in to his brother’s rescue. “Jorn,” ( _Oh,_ Kili hadn’t even been close with that name) “Take the others to double check the parameters of the camp and surrounding area, it’s getting dark and we’d have quite the time explaining being ambushed by bandits to Thorin when we return.” 

Jorn and the other dwarves (surely one of them had to be Gimir, right?) hesitated, appraising Fili a moment before standing. It was moments like this that it was clear Thorin had raised an heir in his brother, even as young as nine and seventy he had a commanding presence when he wasn’t making mischief and chasing trouble with Kili. “Aye, lad. Good thinking.” 

“When you return, the pheasant will be done.” Fili assured and watched all of them shuffle off with various assortments of axes and hammers that would most likely go unused. As soon as the braids of the last one was no longer visible, Fili broke into wide and mirthful laughter. “Brother, you should have seen your face.” 

Kili stuck his tongue out in return, tossing the pheasant down by the camping fire. “I take it you are to make our dinner then, dear brother?”

Still vibrating with the odd laugh here or there, Fili shook his head. “ _We_ , brother, _we_ are going to cook dinner. You’re almost four and seventy, you should know how in case you ever get separated from a scouting party. It’s a good skill to know.”

Looking almost petulant at the idea of learning to cook, Kili inspired another round of laughter from his brother. “It’ll be easy,” Fili assured, “I’ll be right here helping you.” 

Fili sent his brother to fetch a pail of water for them to cook with as he brought the fire to a manageable height and heat. The pot was set over the fire and left to boil once Kili had returned. 

Picking up the pheasants and examining them, Fili marveled at his brother’s accuracy as the pile wound in each bird was right where his brother had said, between the eyes a small and difficult target. 

When he heard the water boil in the pot he tossed one of the birds to the younger, “First, we have to boil them, not enough to cook them, just enough to loose the feathers; then we pluck them.” 

Kili looked halfway to horrified at the prospect of having to pluck the pheasants himself but did as his brother instructed, every so often gaining an amused shake of the head from Fili.

When the birds were naked, Fili dipped each above the fire to burn off the last few tendrils of feathers that remained closest to the body. Tossing Kili’s bird back to him he walked him through each step of gutting and cleaning the pheasants. What normally would have taken five minutes for Fili took thrice as long as he suffered through his brother’s fumbling and occasional groans. 

It was perfectly clear that Kili would have been fine to go his entire life without seeing the inside of a pheasant. 

Fili did him the favour of spearing the pheasants for his brother, setting up the turnspit, walking his brother through every step of the way. There was just one last thing to do before they hung the spit over the fire and started roasting the pheasants. 

“This is the most important part,” Fili confided in his brother, “You have to add the seasoning.” He rummaged through what was left of their food rucksack, presenting what was left of the herbs to Kili. “Well, go on, you can really only learn this part through trial and error, though, a word of advice Kili, don’t forget the salt.” 

Kili rolled his eyes, “I know _that_ much about cooking, ye of little faith.” Though, in truth he knew that he would have gone through the entire process without even thinking to add it. Kili dug into the herbs presented to him, went through each bundle sniffing at them searchingly. Once or twice he had to pull back and cough, his eyes watering. He very quickly pushed away the harshest of spices, preferring the leafed herbs that smelled earthy and and familiar to what their mother would make for them. 

Unsure as he made his first selection of the herb, Kili looked to Fili for confirmation. Fili leaned back against a bough near the campfire and offered nothing but an encouraging smile. Perhaps once or twice he caught a quirk of his brother’s eyebrow when it came to a curious combination and he immediately put down what he was doing. 

Rubbing the herbs thoroughly into the pheasant, Kili once more looked for Fili’s approval when he thought himself finished. Fili came in close to inspect the pheasants and nodded, “Good, this looks really good, Kili.” Kili’s heart swelled with praise and accomplishment.

“What next?”

“Next we actually cook them,” Fili showed his brother how to lay the pheasants across the turnspit, hand ghosting over his brother’s, “You have to remember to turn it every so often. It’s a pain, but otherwise it won’t cook evenly.” The sit by the turnspit Fili’s hand over Kili’s watching the bodies of the pheasant rotate over the open fire. 

“Oh! Before we forget,” Fili grabbed one of the pans the company had brought with them, poured a little water into it and set it just beneath the pheasants. 

Perplexed, Kili canted his head to the side trying to figure out the function of the pan, thinking it would take away from the cooking as it blocked the pheasants from the fire. “It’ll catch the juices,” Fili explained, “It helps with the flavour.” 

Kili nodded, eyes alight with wonder, trying to figure out when Fili had learned all this as there was barely a minute they weren’t attached at the hip. Fili could feel the question in Kili’s gaze and he shrugged, “I’ve watched our mother do this a lot.” 

An hour or two when the pheasant was just about ready to be taken from the spit, the other dwarves of the scouting party filed in from the woods. “Aye,” Jorn inhaled heartily, “Now there’s a pleasant smell to come back to.” A chorus of agreements sounded from the party and they each gathered their plates and cutlery to be served up their portion of the pheasants. There was a full silence as the party dove into their food. 

By the end, the compliments to the chef were given in loud, competitive belches. “And here, the lads and I were worried you couldn’t cook.” 

Kili tossed a look over at his brother, the both of them sharing a grin. “I may have had _some_ help, just a little bit.” 


End file.
